


Hearts and Lungs Intact

by antifayoongi



Category: ATEEZ (Band)
Genre: Additional Warnings In Author's Note, Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Anxiety, Author Is Sleep Deprived, Barista Choi San, Blood, Depression, Don't worry it's not that angsty, Emotional Baggage, FTL, Fluff and Angst, Hanahaki Disease, Idiots in Love, Light Angst, M/M, Minor Violence, Mutual Pining, Other, PLEASE READ AUTHOR'S NOTE I DO NOT WANT TO RUIN YOUR DAY, Panic Attacks, Past Character Death, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Recovery, References to Depression, Slow Burn, Trauma, Trigger Warnings, no beta we die like men
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-04-13
Updated: 2019-07-24
Packaged: 2020-01-12 18:02:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 8,808
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18451766
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/antifayoongi/pseuds/antifayoongi
Summary: choi san believes in soulmates and love at first sight. jung wooyoung doesn't.alternatively titled: another soulmate/hanahaki au that nobody freaking asked for





	1. The Word On My Wrist Says "Hey"

**Author's Note:**

> hihihihi, 'tis me, the author, back with a new fic, but for ateez. i strongly advise you to read the tags and all warnings before every chapter, as i do have everything planned out with a specific ending in mind. no mcd, just past character death. it's not as angsty as it sounds, don't worry. this chapter is sort of an introductory chapter, kinda vague, but it's to get to know these characters. same with the next chapter, sort of.
> 
> i wanted to juxtapose the positions of love at first sight vs developing feelings, so i hope you enjoy this fic. (or don't, if you didn't like it)

“You need to get out of the flat.”

“No.”

“You haven’t been outside.”

“No.”

“And you’re gonna meet my friends later tonight.”

“Absolutely not.”

“Name one time you were out of the flat,” Seonghwa challenges, arms crossed. His tall figure towers over Wooyoung, who is still curled in his bed sheets, clinging to a pillow.

Sunlight is filtering into the room through the blinds, and Wooyoung blinks, his limbs aching. He looks towards the digital alarm clock, glad it’s placed facing the window. Sometime around 1:00 pm, it reads as the red numbers glare at him. This is ridiculous. Did he really arrive home at such a late time?

“For-”

“Aside from the time spent at the studio.” He’s quick to interject, as if he  _ knew  _ Wooyoung would use the same excuses as before.  _ Seonghwa knows him too well. _

Wooyoung silently curses his flatmate, reluctantly pushing himself up, but his arms and legs wrap around the (very soft and fluffy) pillow. He wants to close his eyes and go back to sleep. Seonghwa continues, “I thought so. So can you, at the very least, pretend to be excited when you meet them? I still have yet to introduce you to Hongjoong.”

“I don’t wanna meet him.” He knows he’s being petulant and childish with his behaviours, but he really, honestly, does not want to meet Seonghwa’s  _ soulmate. _

See, the fabric of the universe rests heavily on soulmates, for some odd reason. A society in which finding your soulmate and living the happily ever after dream- yeah, that’s the idea. In an ideal situation of finding your soulmate, key word being  _ ideal, _ it’s love at first sight, marriage after months  _ (how, especially when you just met them and barely know them; there’s a reason for all the divorce rates these days) _ , and the happy ever after like the fairytales always said. Why should you let some stupid words or signs control who you’ll fall for? How can someone be your complete half? What if that person is horrible? What if something  _ horrible- _

“Look, I know you’re not fond of soulmates-”

“That’s putting it lightly,” Wooyoung interjects.

“-but would Yeosang and Mingi want you to live miserably for the rest of your life as a bitter and grumpy old man?”

Seonghwa’s words strike a chord within Wooyoung. Yeosang and Mingi. Maybe Yeosang would wish him a bitter life. No, neither of them really would. Especially if Wooyoung was born with the word “Hey” written across his arm in a scrawl. Nothing particularly fancy, just words. A word. He remembers Yeosang saying how he was lucky to even have a word: a word that probably meant that he had a soulmate. Yeosang, who saw the world in black to white gradients, had always been enthusiastic about meeting his, and always encouraged Wooyoung to go find them, whoever this soulmate is.

After Yeosang, Wooyoung wants nothing to do with soulmates, or finding his.

“Please give him a chance. That’s all I’m asking for: one chance. It’s not just Hongjoong. Others are there, too.”

A chance. It’s a one in a thousand chance of finding your soulmate. That much is reassuring. For the other part, Wooyoung doesn’t understand how the universe wants two specific people together, and it’s not a coincidence that these things happen. Stories of time stopping, a timer on the wrist as a countdown, getting unrealistically warm, a tattoo completing itself, seeing colour, and sometimes the other route: pain and petals. It could be a combination of anything, or one, or not at all. A chance… 

“But Seonghwa, I have work tomorrow, early. And I arrived home really late.”

“Nuh-uh, you got the day off tomorrow. I called into your studio. You arriving here at four in the morning isn’t my problem. No excuses.”

Seonghwa really planned out the entire thing… okay. Wooyoung can see he isn’t getting out of this situation that easily. He can call in and inform the studio that he’ll be arriving later.

“You can try to call Hyunwoo,” he continues, “but I’ve informed him that you’re taking the day off tomorrow. He said Hoseok can fill in, so it won’t be an issue. He agrees with me; get out of the studio and socialize.”

“What do you mean  _ you called? _ ” he questions, flopping back on his bed in an over-dramatic fashion, spread-eagled. He closes his eyes; the light from the sun is still so blindingly bright, and he just woke up.

“It means I called,” Seonghwa reiterates.

“I’m tired, and I really don’t feel like going. I’m worn down from yesterday’s dance practice at the studio and haven’t had much time to rest. Seonghwa, please, let me stay,” he begs, putting on a pout face. Wooyoung clasps his hands together, as if praying. He knows damn well that he is adorable, as said by Seonghwa.

“That won’t work on me. Besides, if you’re tired, that’s even more of a reason not to go to the studio, am I right or am I right?”

“...”

“I thought so. So, get up, change out of those clothes because you smell like sweat. Actually, just take a shower. It should help relax whatever you’ve strained. Warm water. Not too hot, we’re on a budget. You’re twenty-five; stop acting like a child.”

Begrudgingly, Wooyoung lifts himself from the couch, makes his way to the bathroom. He makes sure to give Seonghwa a nasty look as he passes.

“Yeah, be angry at me all you want; it won’t do anything. We’re going for coffee at three, if that’s any motivation.”

* * *

 

_ Of course, _ he thinks, impatient.  _ Of course the barista is flirting with anything that fucking breathes. _

Seonghwa thought, for some reason, that it would be a good idea to go to this artisan coffee place. It’s not that he dislikes coffee, he just dislikes the man behind the counter with the red highlights that work well with his hair-

_ Shut up, Wooyoung, _ he yells at himself.

“You okay there?” Seonghwa asks. They’re the third or so group in line, waiting for this barista to stop flirting and get back to work.

It’s a quaint, quiet, yet busy place. The kind of quiet where you can hear people being productive. People sit at wooden tables with a cup of coffee, a notebook, and a laptop plugged into the nearest outlet. Others sit across from each other, hands occasionally blushing.

There are some with stacks of books in hand. Despite the crowd, the area seems spacious enough so claustrophobia doesn’t take hold of him in this new environment. He doesn’t like being in public places for this very reason, but this place almost seems to want him here. As if the coffee shop is inviting him in. Surprisingly, he finds himself feeling a comfort and warmth in this place.

“Wooyoung,” Seonghwa nudges him, and Wooyoung is jolted out of his own thoughts. Wow, how’d they get to the front of the line? “What do you want? It’s on me. I’ve already ordered.”

And who would he be to deny free coffee?

He approaches the barista.

“Hey!” he greets.

Wooyoung internally groans.  _ It sucks having hey as the word on your wrist because you don’t know if the person saying hey your soulmate. And it’s not like I want anything to do with my so-called other half. _

“What was that you said?” Shit, he didn’t realize he’d said this aloud. The barista raises his eyebrow repeatedly, and he hears Seonghwa laughing in the background.

“Nothing important.”

“Well, I’m San. Seonghwa’s already ordered his bitter coffee,” he chimes in. “You probably want something sweeter because Seonghwa is the only person crazy enough to order a straight black coffee without creamer or sugar.”

_ How did he know I was considering that? _ He shakes his head, shaking it off and agreeing with a, “Yeah, I’ll have that. Uh. Yeah.” Stupid, stupid, stupid. Wooyoung feels indefinitely dumb, and decides to keep his mouth shut.

“Total is three dollars and seventy-five cents,” San says with a wink.

“San, I ordered two drinks,” Seonghwa says, concerned about the price he’s receiving. “Coffee doesn’t sell for cheap, but I know that-”

“One of them’s on the house.”

“Wait, what.”

“Did I stutter? Go sit down, wait for your drinks. Your friend’s drink is on the house.”

_ He’s cute- shut up mind! _ Wooyoung groans as his thoughts keep betraying him. It’s as if some of these “thoughts” aren’t his, in a way, as if… 

“Wh-what? Why?”

“Did I stutter?”

Seonghwa drags Wooyoung by the wrist, over to the bar stools in front of the countertop, a few meters away from the barista. He grumbles, “San never even gives me free coffee, let alone discounts. I’ve known San longer than you have.”

A warm sensation spreads throughout Wooyoung from head to toe, infiltrating the parts that felt cold from the chill of the door whenever it swung open. A gust of wind in this area is strong enough to knock over an average growing child. Huh. Why? It’s not that he minded the feeling too much; it was just overwhelmingly warm.

They take their seats at the bar stools, close to where people pick up their orders. The counter is the same material as the other side, with a glass separating it. It’s a granite surface, glossed over and smooth, and it’s slightly cold so Wooyoung makes an attempt to cool himself down, literally, by resting his head against the counter.

He watches as, customer after customer, San gives a charming dimpled smile. Care-free, the kind that reaches his eyes easily. When he runs a hand through his hair for whatever odd reason, the girl at the counter squeals.

“Mr. San, are you okay?” she asks. Wooyoung simply tilts his head to the side, glad Seonghwa is on his right hand side and can’t see how dark Wooyoung’s facial expression is becoming.“Yeah, just need fresh air during my break.”

He’s almost embarrassed to admit that he feels a little possessive over San, despite knowing nothing about him. It doesn’t take looking at the reflective glass separating him and the other side to tell that he’s glaring. Whatever happened, San was clearly experiencing this too. Was it some strange phenomenon yet again? Or were they both just coming down with something? After all, it’s mid-autumn, and windy.

“So, what was it you’d like?”

And the girl continues chattering away until an older woman yells, “You’re holding up the line!” Wooyoung finds himself laughing.  _ Finally.  _ Yet he feels as if this isn’t only his thought. As if someone in the room could project their thoughts onto you. But that wasn’t even supposed to be possible. That only happened if… if…

_ Shit. _

There’s another person who taps San’s shoulder. He was the guy behind the counter, who effortlessly broke fruits in half for some of the things they made. The guy feels San’s forehead, but he can’t hear the rest. He and San trade places, putting San to work with the coffee and the taller guy to man the counter.

It’s minutes later when Seonghwa’s name is called, and he feels rather than sees Seonghwa get up. San grins at him from the other side of the glass, and it’s only then that he sees how San is sweating enough to fill a bucket. And it’s clearly tiring him out; he can see it in San’s eyes. It’s how the dance crew looks after they’ve finished another intense rehearsal: the living dead.

“Wooyoung!” San calls out. And Wooyoung mentally kicks himself for this: liking the way his name rolled off San’s tongue. “Yours is ready.”

As Wooyoung trudges the few meters to the counter top, he’s met with San holding a cup of coffee and a rose.  _ Where the fuck did he get a rose? _

“For you, Wooyoung.” Wooyoung would laugh if it wasn’t for the fact that San looked like the actual devil with a smirk. Flirts with anything that breathes. Yup, San was flirting. He was fucking  _ flirting. _ With Wooyoung. “Yours was on the house,” he says in a deep voice, winking. It’s then that San bites his lower lip, tongue sliding as he slides the coffee across the counter, and then hands a thornless, red rose to Wooyoung. “The rose is for you.”

As their fingertips brush for a brief second, Wooyoung’s entire body is going against its programming to reject the (very brief) physical contact. Wooyoung has a solid grasp on both the coffee and the rose.

When San’s expression turns from questioning to recognition, he smiles with his dimples.

And it’s at this point that Wooyoung’s worst suspicions are confirmed. He sees the barista’s arm, the words on his wrist the exact thoughts he’d unintentionally voiced aloud earlier. Something drops in his stomach, and the next few minutes are a blur. His mind messy. He’s a mess. He feels like he’ll throw any second. Because there is something he’s unwilling to admit, even if Seonghwa damn well knows why he wants nothing to do with his soulmate.

So he does the one thing he knows in situations like these:

He runs.


	2. Blame the Planetary Alignments

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> TW: anxiety, mention of panic attacks, emotional baggage, not being in the right state of mind

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> aahhhhhh i didn't anticipate this weekend to be so busy ! this is all i've gotten time to edit, but i promise i'll have a chapter up on wednesday. this is just a filler. saturday we'll resume the update schedule as normal.
> 
> i'm so surprised with the kudos and hits and comments on this fic ?? oh my gosh. thank you so much for reading, everyone. anyway, here's the filler of what i had time to edit. yes, there is symbolism and foreshadowing and other rhetoric; keep a lookout :]

Seonghwa keeps taking tentative glances at Wooyoung, due to the younger’s refusal to open up when asked, “What happened at the coffee shop?”

It’s a question they’d all like to get an answer to. Wooyoung doesn’t know what happened. Hell, it was a blur as he dashed out of that place as if his life depended on it.

He vaguely remembers it, as he turned back in a flash of panic: San’s smile fading, eyes glassy. And a worried Seonghwa, who ran out of the shop after Wooyoung. Then came the question. The “what happened” question.

He doesn’t know. It’s been instinct ingrained into his bones since the very first day he could remember, as the panic settled in: an overactive fight or flight response. It’s always been his instinctive reaction to any situation where he feels put under severe stress. Fight or flight. Fight or flight. He’d either cry on the spot or run, literally, away from a situation.

So here he sits, on the cold wooden bench facing a small river, underneath the tall oak tree, scarf wrapped around enough to hide his mouth, and Seonghwa to his left, continuously glancing.

He doesn’t realize, until he takes a glance, that he’s holding onto the coffee and the rose. A single, bright red rose, thornless as he takes a glance at it yet again. No, he doesn’t want to ruin it.

It’s Seonghwa who speaks up first, as another breeze passes by, shaking the leaves on the trees as they fall and scatter. Wooyoung wonders where the leaves will go, in a child-like fascination, as he sees the branch shaking roughly. He gazes up in wonderment, seeing the oranges and yellows and browns all combining. Another autumn breeze shakes the tall oak tree, and Wooyoung wraps his coat around himself a lot tighter. It’s kind of cold, mainly due to the wind.

“If it’s about San,” Seonghwa starts, side-glancing at the flower still in Wooyoung’s hand.

His fingers are cold, but Wooyoung clutches at the rose.

“It wasn’t San,” Wooyoung grits out. It’s a half-truth. He can’t blame San for being the other half. The  _ so-called other side _ of him that his soul has been searching for. Two sides of the same coin. He watches the river, seeing ripples in the water from a disturbance by some forces of nature. A single brown leaf falls into the shallow ends, flipping over, carried by the wind, going away with a weak current, downstream at a slow pace.

“Well, San flirts with anything that breathes.”

_ Reassuring, _ he thinks sarcastically. And it isn’t San’s fault that he’s got Wooyoung as a soulmate. Blame fate. Blame whatever screwed up system this universe put them into. Blame it on the world. He almost feels bad for San, for being stuck with him. For knowing that this was the person he’d probably have to put up with for the rest of his life. For knowing, or eventually knowing, that Wooyoung was  _ terrified  _ at the prospect of having a soulmate.

“He wasn’t.”

“Uh-huh. Explain why you got free coffee.”

“Because… I don’t know!” he yells in frustration. And it’s not that he’s ashamed to have San as his soulmate. He’s just not fond of the idea of his fated other half. Soulmates were a dangerous business, nothing he’d want to screw up. Wooyoung himself is just a screw up, so by default, their potential at a relationship wouldn’t work out. These thoughts cause his mind to scatter all over the place and still not comprehending the situation properly, going from idea to idea, flipping the way the falling leaves would turn over. He couldn’t trust his own thoughts, and that, in itself, was frightening.

“I think you’re different, to him at least,” Seonghwa comments, voice piercing the breeze. “San wears his heart on his sleeve. You’d do best not to break it.”

Because Seonghwa knows Wooyoung. And that’s all there is to it.

“Okay, so maybe his flirting freaked me out a little,” Wooyoung lies. A little?  _ Understatement. _ To the point where he nearly had a panic attack?  _ Yeah, bad enough. _

He wakes up, some nights, in a cold sweat, throat raw from screaming, unable to remember his dreams. As if that’s not frightening enough. Seonghwa would always look so scared, that it got to the point where Wooyoung needed therapy. His fear of fear of waking up screaming, yelling, anything: he didn’t sleep, he did eat but when he did the portions were concerningly small, and he could always be found at the dance studio. It only made his anxiety worsened. As a child, he’d had anxiety growing up, but it only worsened after… after his friends. First it was Mingi. And then Yeosang.

It’s too painful for him to talk about in detail, so he shuts it in a cupboard of not-thoughts, not wanting to feel that pain again. It was so, extremely painful to open that cupboard. Because as soon as he did, dangerous and terrifying thoughts would spill and break the way glass dishes did in an over-filled cabinet. He’d have to shove those thoughts back to the not-thoughts, and slam the cupboard, place a lock if needed.

“You’re telling me that you gay panicked,” Seonghwa says, deadpan, no emotion to his voice. It’s just a flat tone.

“No,” Wooyoung repeats. “No, it wasn’t that.” It’s the fact that San was his soulmate, and that was confirmed as soon as he saw his handwriting on San’s wrist. It’s not that he hated his soulmate; he hated the consequences of a soulmate. Someone you’d think to spend the rest of your life with. Someone who, even if you didn’t know them, you’d say love at first sight. Which is something he doesn’t subscribe to. It’s all about developing relationships, building that emotional connection, until he can say he loves someone romantically.

“You’re still holding the flower,” Seonghwa points out. “Red roses? That’s classy, even for San. I’ve never seen him hand out a red rose to a customer before.”

He’s probably doing it because they’re soulmates, not because he actually loved Wooyoung. It was too early to tell. He’ll end up disliking Wooyoung, with all the sleepless nights and emotional baggage that comes with being his friend. It’s what Seonghwa miraculously put up with on a daily basis. It’s why it was difficult to force him anywhere that wasn’t work-related. It’s why he doesn’t like people to get close—  _ Cupboard,  _ he reminds himself, giving a mental kick.  _ Don’t think about it. _

“I know Yeosang and Mingi meant a great deal to you, but you can’t let that stop you from loving or befriending new people. It’s not healthy, and I know that you know it.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so sorry this one is short ! but i do hope this will suffice. you'll learn more about wooyoung and why he acts the way he does, but i'm not saying that running away is okay, nor am i justifying his actions. anxiety is a real thing that a lot of us face, especially if it escalates to the point of a panic attack. i advise you to be careful when throwing "anxiety" around because it really isn't something to be joking about.
> 
> remember that wooyoung isn't in the right mindset right now, so his thoughts won't make sense. remember that fear is a huge motivating factor. and remember defense mechanisms.
> 
> remember: new chapter up on wednesday and back to regular updates. aahhh this week has been hectic but i hope y'all are doing well <3
> 
> thanks for reading!!
> 
> x,  
> ty


	3. We Were Always Meant to Cross Paths

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hello bois, it is me, ya demon. jkjk. okay so i have absolutely no excuse as to why i haven't updated. i honestly do not think i can keep up with update schedules, so i may just do one long chapter every few weeks to compensate. let's see how that goes :]]
> 
> my beta reader was grammarly jkkjk i'm gonna go back and fix this chapter ayyeeee
> 
> as always, hope you enjoy (or don't, if you don't like it)

Seonghwa doesn’t question him any further, and Wooyoung is grateful that the subject was dropped (for now).

At last, they’ve arrived at the doorstep of Hongjoong’s apartment. He’s quick to count the number of windows and exits, should the need to escape arise. It’s the first floor, so he knows he won’t have to jump off the second floor windows. Logically, he knows it’s not going to occur, but it didn’t hurt to stay on the safe side.

Wooyoung’s hands shake as Seonghwa knocks on the door. It’s a brown door with a simple handle, the paint flaking off. He rocks back and forth on his feet, small movements. Tapping his fingers against his thigh, he waits next to Seonghwa, who has his phone pulled out, typing away on the screen. Probably texting that it’s them. Probably texting Hongjoong, if the small smile and fond gaze on Seonghwa’s face is anything to go by.

And when the door finally swings open, Wooyoung is able to exhale, yet he fears going inside at the same time. The door opens to reveal a young person, maybe his age or older, a mop of dyed light-brown on his head. Mushroom, is the first thing that rushes to his mind.

Wooyoung surveys the ground. Shoes at the door, a small closet on the left hand side. Slightly ajar. They kick off their shoes at the door, seeing as most of the shoes are in a pile. Mental note, it’s okay to take off shoes upon entering. He doesn’t see much past his right-hand side, mainly because of a wall, but he sees a hallway and what he guesses is most likely the living room area. He notices blinds and a glass sliding door. Note to self: will be difficult to get out of the apartment that way if his shoes are more than two meters away.

“Hey,” the person who opened the door said. “Wooyoung, right? Seonghwa’s told us about you. Said you’re actually coming over.”

It’s then that he realizes Seonghwa had already gone inside, and now he’s a nervous wreck without Seonghwa near him. It puts him on edge, keeps him not at ease. “Uhm, yes. You’re Hongjoong?”

“Oh my god, no.” He laughs as if that’s hilarious. Wooyoung doesn’t see what’s so funny. “I won’t be caught dead in a mullet. I’m Yunho. Anyway, are you gonna stand there because you’re a vampire and I have to invite you in before you come in?”

“Uh?” he replies stupidly.

“He may as well be!” A shout from inside. Seonghwa’s voice.

“So, you gonna come in… or…?” Yunho trails off.

“Yeah, in.” He slowly treads his way into the entrance, past the door frame. The walls are an off-white shade, he notes, made even more so by the warm, ambient lighting. It’s inviting, and welcoming, and his senses are flooded with the smell of food from the kitchen.

“Well, welcome. You can take a seat on the couch or something.”

“Th-thanks. Will do.”

He takes a seat next to Seonghwa, immediately noticing that his friend is already very close to another person on the couch. He’s got a mullet. Probably the one Yunho was referring to. Hongjoong, he guesses. It’s not too difficult to put two and two together and guess that it’s Hongjoong.

“Wooyoung!” he’s quick to greet. When he waves, the first thing Wooyoung notices is how small his hands are. It’s undeniably cute, especially when Seonghwa’s fingers are a lot longer, and the two on the couch have their hands intertwined. Seonghwa’s hand look so large in comparison. “Seonghwa’s said a lot about you. Sit down, you look kinda awkward just standing there.”

It’s one of those moments where it’s third-wheeling. Where he feels as if he’s being privy to something he shouldn’t be seeing, something so sacred.

And, in truth, Hongjoong is not at all what he expected him to be like. A horrible person with ill intentions? Maybe. A friendly-looking person that seems sweet? That was not as expected. He sits at the end of the couch, on the armrest. It’s really soft and feels nice to sit on. There was a reason he kept up his ridiculous schedule; anything to keep him from meeting Seonghwa’s soulmate. Which, he knows isn’t fair to Hongjoong. Wooyoung knows.

“Seonghwa!” Wooyoung shout-whispers. “Your boyfriend is so small!”

“Shut up,” Seonghwa hisses.

Wooyoung smirks in return, and says, more loudly, “His hands are tiny, too, and you do bottom, yes? Based on the overly-descriptive graphic things that my innocent ears never asked to hear about, how does he-”

“Wooyoung, complete that sentence and I will end you.” Seonghwa is an actual shade of red, but as he turns to Hongjoong, he flashes a smile. “Sorry about this little shit. Wooyoung, meet Hongjoong. Hongjoong, Wooyoung.”

At the same time, Yunho shouts from the kitchen, “Never in my life would I  _ ever _ want to know nor hear the rest of that statement! They’re disgusting enough and I can’t deal with it, so I have to stay at Jongho’s frequently, and I’m pretty sure the neighbours have complained about the noise coming from room one-zero-two-four. I can’t even show my face around here thanks to them. I don’t know how our other flatmate puts up with you.”

Hongjoong is quick to diffuse the situation, ignoring the comments. “Our other flatmate is-”

_ “Flirting with anything that breathes! _ ” Yunho is quick to fill in.

Wooyoung gets an odd sense of  déjà vu , making his spine crawl as he shivers. The room isn’t even warm, either.

“He has Saturday shifts at the caf é , so he’s rarely able to make it.”

“Who works on a Saturday?” Wooyoung blurts out.

“Crazy people like you.” Seonghwa deadpans.

“Ah, maybe it was meant to be,” Hongjoong nods.

At that, Wooyoung tenses up immediately. Going here was a bad,  _ bad  _ idea. So horrible. He becomes queasy at the mention of those words. He doesn’t want to hear that. Not in this fucked system, where everything is “fated” to happen. He does not want to be attached because love— it hurts. Loving someone, whether platonically or romantically, it hurts and you feel empty when you lose them. Love hurts. Caring for people is dangerous. Giving your heart away is dangerous. Love is fucking dangerous.

The idea of running again sounds tempting, but even then, he knows better than to run out a second time.

_ Soulmate. Meant to be. Fated. _

All just bullshit and propaganda that the mainstream media threw at them. About  _ soulmates _ and  _ finding your other half. _

Suddenly the arm of the armrest isn’t as comfortable, and he attempts to make himself physically smaller, wishing he could disappear, or the couch would swallow him whole. 

“Joong,” Seonghwa nudges him. Wooyoung feels grateful that Seonghwa hadn’t spilled anything about Wooyoung, especially personal things that only people like Seonghwa would know. Why Wooyoung is the way he is. Why he can’t subscribe to soulmates. Why he’s so scared to love. Anyone else who knew, they took that secret to their grave.

“So, uh, weekend shifts?” Hongjoong changes the topic immediately. “What do you do?”

“Uh, uhm,” he stutters. “I work at a dance studio with… with this dance crew. We don’t have a name. Yet…” he adds. He enjoys what he does, glad it’s with Hyunwoo and Hoseok (both Lee and Jung) and Jimin, even if he keeps them an arm’s length away.

“Oh, you’re a dancer? Like, professionally?”

“Uh… kinda?” Then something clicks in his mind. The gears are turning, actually working. He’s able to distract himself with the conversation, but he’s careful, as if treading barefoot on a floor with broken glass. “Your surname is Kim?”

“Yes. Why?”

“You produce music.”

“Wooyoung, stop asking invasive questions!” Seonghwa hisses.

“Eh, it’s fine, he reminds me of an over-excited puppy. It’s cute. Yes, I’m a music producer.”

“You wouldn’t happen to know a Hyunwoo? Or a Hoseok?”

“I do. I’ve produced tracks for them before-”

“Oh, those tracks are amazing!” Wooyoung exclaims excitedly, warming up slowly, but still cautious. “Seonghwa mentioned that you produced music but I didn’t know those were one of the forty-something tracks we’ve used at showcases or warm-ups.”

“Oh?” Hongjoong’s tone comes across as flattered, but even then, who wouldn’t be?

“Yeah, they’re great tracks. Say My Name? HALA HALA. Promise. I loved Twilight. Sometimes we use tracks from other artists but it feels more authentic when we use original songs. You know?”

“Hyunwoo… Hyunwoo used those in performance?” he asks, disbelieving. “I thought he needed them for warm-ups and stuff.”

“Yes! Why wouldn’t he? If I had videos, I’d show you. Ooh, actually we have a busking thing coming up in a month! Yeah, you should check out the dance crew. Seonghwa can probably drag you along! Say My Name is on there for sure, and the choreography doesn’t disappoint. Who were your vocalists?”

“That would be 2Ho.”

“Two hoes? You got hoes to sing your tracks… I’m not sure if I should endorse this.”

Seonghwa is laughing in the background. “It’s Jongho and Yunho.”

“Twilight is my personal favourite.”

“Yeah? I’m actually proud of that one.”

“Speaking of 2Ho, where is Jongho?” Seonghwa asks, genuinely curious.

“On his way!” Yunho hollers in response.

“Yunho, get your ass out here and sit down!” Hongjoong shout back.

“We’ve finally got Wooyoung here,” Seonghwa chides, chiming in.

Yunho trudges over but takes the spot near Seonghwa and Hongjoong (they’re practically sitting on each other). He leaves a gap between himself and Wooyoung.

A knock on the door snaps Wooyoung out of it. He’s been spacing out, but as soon as that door opens, he automatically feels his stomach drop.

“Mr. Park… I don’t feel too good,” Wooyoung says.

“San has that effect on everyone,” Yunho shrugs. “And hey! I cried at the end of that movie, how dare you reference it.” He swats Wooyoung’s arm. Around Yunho, it seems as if he’s already known him.

San… As in barista San? How many people had the name San? It could be a nickname, too. That was a possibility. Wooyoung kept clinging onto the notion that this wasn’t the San from the café, but doubt rests in his mind.

“The bathroom is the first door to your right, just go down the hallway,” Seonghwa explains.

And he’s quick to take the instructions. It seems like a blur when he finds himself in a room with that same warm, ambient lighting. He stares into the mirror, and he just sees how horrible he must have looked for Seonghwa not to question anything. Why does he feel so horrible? Why does he feel like something bad will happen?  _ Why? _ Why does he feel dizzy? Why is he so anxious? They’re just new people. Two new people is enough, add a third… that third being  _ San. _ New people who he probably isn’t going to form emotional attachments to anyways, so it really shouldn’t matter. It’s just one night out of the many he’ll never go to.

_ There’s no reason to be on edge, _ he tells himself.  _ There is no way the universe is this small. _

Yet if it turns out to be  _ that  _ San, Wooyoung can’t decide if he would feel betrayed by Seonghwa, or grateful that he knew it was San.

He needs a breather. He needs to breathe. And loosen his grip on the counter. It feels like he may break the marble. He splashes his face with cold water, ruining the slight make-up he wore, and smudging the black eyeliner, but at this point, it didn’t matter. He rubs off the eyeliner, seeing as it’s unable to be fixed anyway, then dries his face with the hand towels. One quick look back, and he looks slightly better.

He’s okay to go back out.

Upon exiting the bathroom, he’s greeted by someone with red highlights in his hair. He’s in jeans and a t-shirt, carrying a dog plushie.

It’s San. It registers somewhere in the back of his mind. It’s  _ that  _ San. The one he ran away from, and would probably have to run away from again.

San gives him a half-smile, but his dimples (fucking adorable—  _ shut up Wooyoung _ ) show through and Wooyoung could melt inside, but he isn’t gonna do that. San is just an undeniably attractive man. That’s all there is to it.

As he passes San, they accidentally brush shoulders, filling Wooyoung with a sensation of warmth, warmer than being asleep in his bed with lots of blankets.

“This shit only happens in movies and books,” Wooyoung mutters on his way out.

He sees a brief flash of recognition in San’s eyes, which only turns to disappointment and a deep frown. The dimples are long gone.

“Oh, hey!” Yunho makes a  _ come here _ motion upon seeing the duo in the same space. “Wooyoung, meet San. San, Wooyoung.”

_ Not that we need introducing. _

Yunho is completely oblivious to the tension between San and Wooyoung. If he notices anything, he chooses not to mention it. “Oh, there’s Jongho! We have to introduce you guys too.”

It gives Wooyoung an out. He can go, get away from San, especially after the morning incident.

But San is quick to speak.

“Nice to meet you,” San smiles, looking Wooyoung in the eyes. Though he may be smiling, his gaze is impassive, one that Wooyoung is unable to read. San knows Wooyoung… so why is he acting as if they first met? Did he… No, he definitely recognized Wooyoung, if his gaze is anything to go by. For some reason unknown to Wooyoung, he’s pretending they have not already met.

“And you,” Wooyoung nods back, trying to root himself to the spot when all he wants to do is run again.  _ What does he want from me? _

* * *

 

He ended up running.

_ Coward, Wooyoung. You coward. _

It wasn’t as dramatic as his last exit; he asked Seonghwa and Hongjoong if he could step outside to the patio for a breath of fresh air. Wooyoung felt nearly suffocated in the room, despite the working thermostat and a generous amount of space between him and the next person. Yet temperature-wise he could still feel the after-effects of his skin burning.

To Wooyoung’s dismay, San followed him outside a few minutes later. He’s barefoot, and woodchips and small pieces of gravel and uneven pavement and some shards of glass from a bottle-- they all hurt like hell. But he ignores it and keeps walking, just socks because he left his shoes, unsure where he’s going. Okay, well, he’s passed the car, so driving home isn’t an option. The nearest bus is a twenty minute walk, less than ten if he can run. But there’s a lake, and a pathway, it snakes around, and there are trees, leaves still attached. Yes, here. _ Here is okay. _

He didn’t think San would keep following, but as soon as Wooyoung collapses on the grass, eyes closed, spread-eagled, there’s a rustling sound in the dark as someone approaches him. He cracks an eye open to see his suspicion confirmed. Yes, it was San.

San gets closer and closer, his dog plushie still in hand. He wordlessly takes a seat on the grass, close to Wooyoung (and again, his skin heats up).

They stay there in silence, knowing the elephant in the room will have to be addressed at some point, but Wooyoung will, by any and all means, avoid the topic. Which, realistically, he should just grow up and talk like he is twenty-five and stop being immature. It’s not the comfortable, relaxing silence. It’s the awkward kind, where San continuously shifts around to find a comfortable position. Wooyoung knows he’s moving because the grass rustles.

Even if it’s dark and the end of summer in Chicago, it’s a breezy night and Wooyoung just closes his eyes, hoping the fresh air would help him relax. He breathes, but it only makes it difficult because his airways feel almost clogged.

“I cannot believe this is happening,” Wooyoung murmurs. He didn’t ask for a soulmate. He didn’t want one. He didn’t like this soulmate system. Why can’t the universe just leave them be?

He’s seen the destructive tendencies of love. He’s seen what people do when they lose someone they care about too much. And if it’s a soulmate, the person you’re supposedly fated to be with for the rest of your life, it will hurt and ache so badly. And Wooyoung knows this. From witnessing it; and it’s an experience that traumatizes him to the point where he was diagnosed with some degree of social anxiety and PTSD. He knows how horrible it can be to even care for someone; so he refuses to let anyone else into his life.

Soulmates are an idiotic concept. There are so many flaws with this “system.” So many logical fallacies that Wooyoung can’t begin to comprehend. Whoever thought two souls were meant to be together, that they are halves of the same whole: it’s entirely fucked up.

“I can hear you thinking.” It’s San who breaks the silence. “And I wish I couldn’t, but seriously, I feel you thinking.”

“Shut up,” Wooyoung retorts, eyes still closed.

“So… soulmates. You’re… my soulmate. You are Wooyoung. Listen…” Here it comes. Wooyoung already knows what he’s about to say. Call it intuition. “I don’t know what you have against me when you just met me. That’s not fair, I don’t think.”

Yup, he called it.

“You don’t know anything,” he mutters, loud enough for San to hear, but quiet enough that it’s in a hushed tone.

“Then let me know,” he says. And it’s soft. His voice is tiny, and Wooyoung, his heart melts at that. “I know it’s hard-”

“It hurts.”

“-but please, Wooyoung, help me understand.”

“Please let me be. Please. Maybe,” Wooyoung sighs, then opens his eyes to prop himself up on his elbows. “Maybe, one day, you will understand. But it’s painful to talk about, s-so we won’t. And we don’t either.”

San glances at him in earnest, as if gauging his reaction. His arms are wrapped around his Shiba Inu plushie (at least, that’s what he identifies the dog plushie as).

“You can… Here, hold Shiber.” San thrusts his hands forward, anticipating when Wooyoung will hold his Shiber. He looks at the Shiba Inu plushie skeptically before deciding it would be best to hold Shiber. A feeling in his gut tells him to do it because San wants him to, even if his mind doesn’t agree. The last time Wooyoung didn’t listen to intuition, it landed him in the hospital.

_ What does he want from me? _

He gives one glance before brushing himself off, heading back to San’s place to let him know he’ll be leaving. Seonghwa doesn’t question it too much, decides to stay over at Hongjoong’s, to the dismay of Jongho and Yunho. Wooyoung could almost laugh, if not for the unpleasant cloud that seems to have settled above his head. He has to force a smile, genuine enough and making sure it reaches his eyes, so Seonghwa won’t be suspicious.

Needless to say, he realizes three things.

One, he regrets going home alone

Two, he still has Shiber.

Three, he’s left to his own thoughts; that in itself is more dangerous than anything.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> wooyoung's behaviour... will be explained in later chapters. he runs, because in this fic, so much has happened to him that he lives with high levels of anxiety and PTSD from traumatic events of the past. he did leave with shiber *eyes emoji* what's he gonna do ? find out next chapter ;]
> 
> (honestly i feel bad for hurting wooyoung because at this point i'm just projecting onto the characters. anyway, writing this fic has helped me cope with my own trauma, something that still haunts me after so many years. it isn't easy just to "get over it" despite what anyone else says.)
> 
> once again thank you for reading !!
> 
> x,  
> ty


	4. One Step Forward, Two Steps Back

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "je suis venu ici pour passer un bon moment et je suis honnêtement sentir si attaqué dès maintenant"
> 
> that's it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW// there is a scene in this chapter that depicts a panic attack and heavily implied ptsd.
> 
> to clarify the time frame, it is end of autumn, so it's about early december-ish. the storyline is gonna span over the course of four months. the weather is high key based on last winter, which wasn't as harsh. anyway, i really have no excuse for not updating. chapters are sitting in my google docs collecting dust.
> 
> as always, enjoy (or don't) and thanks for reading!
> 
> x,  
> ty

If he’s being truthful to himself, he dreads going into that coffee chop. He really, really doesn’t want to face San. In fact, after this, he’ll continue on with his life in the way he routinely does it, after returning Shiber, of course. It was a plan. He remembers the walk they took to go here. It was only less than a mile to walk; he could easily walk there.

He scrutinizes the area, looking for the coffee shop that he had gone to yesterday. Wooyoung only vaguely remembers what it looks like, barely knows the location, and continues around the suburb’s downtown. A few turns, a loop around the block, and a corner later, he finally finds the place, about two blocks down. Next to him is a flower shop, which has daffodils on display.

His legs carry him towards the shop, despite the unending anxiety and his mind screaming,  _ “No!”  _ He keeps going, walking the two blocks, reluctantly, as if he’s just a puppet and the universe pulls at his strings. He dreads it. And the feeling still doesn’t go away, even when he stands about five feet away from the door.

The quiet, quaint coffee shop doesn’t stand out much. A sign dangles from the canopy out in front, a simple, plain colour. The words on the sign have faded probably from the weather, but a distinct floral pattern can be seen on the borders. Its simple light red brickwork makes it blend into the background, tucked at the corner of the street. Fallen leaves collect at the sidewalk.

He’s been here with Seonghwa, and that was once. It’s fall, so it gets darker even faster as the days go by. Gosh, it’s late. And damn, he’s slightly shivering.

Mostly because he’s freezing, with shaky hands, Wooyoung pushes the door open, met with a warmth that spreads from head to toe. He’s looking for San the second he enters, to get it over with. Get it over with and not have to interact with his  _ soulmate _ \- he shudders- ever again.

“You know, you left this at my place,” a familiar voice calls from the other side of the room. It’s cozy, a few people in there. It wasn’t a rush hour like the previous day, same time. Wooyoung approaches the counter, seeing San with that damn red rose.

San is shamelessly flirting at the counter as if yesterday was just a dream. But no, it isn’t.

“The rose?”

“Yeah, you left it.”

“And you left Shiber in my care.” He remembers Shiber. He searches through his backpack, or in his hands for Shiber. But no, the Shiba plush isn’t anywhere on his person. Oh, God. He only wanted to come here once more and continue on with their separate lives.

“That, I did.”

“Fuck!” exclaims Wooyoung. “I can’t believe that I left him back at my place.”

“And I seem to have left my heart with you.”

No, yesterday was real. Yesterday was real. Fuck. And he’s flirting.

“San, we just met,” Wooyoung manages.  _ What’s gotten into you? You’re not like this, Wooyoung. It was only supposed to be one more meeting. What’s wrong with flirting? Seonghwa says San will hit on anything that breathes.  _ “You can’t already declare feelings.”

“It’s a shame you’re a little heartbreaker; you’re cute.” San winks. In the midst of Wooyoung’s internal breakdown, San has the audacity to wink. But it’s not like San can tell he is nervous.

_ I could’ve sworn he was with me when Seonghwa arrived this afternoon. Where the fuck is Shiber? Don’t tell me I fucking lost him. God, Wooyoung, you’re a Class-A dumbass. Where is he? I was supposed to return him today; that’s the whole reason I’m going to this place. _

He tries to hide his panic from San, and it seems to be working. He’s used to masking everything he feels, shoving it in a messy cupboard. Wooyoung taps lightly on the edge of the counter, but keeps a neutral expression.

“So it seems.” San beams back at him. He hands back the thornless rose. Wooyoung extends his hand a little, and their fingers brush ever so slightly. It’s cheesy and cliche, but he feels it in his finger tips: a warm, glowing feeling, as if sparks go off. He can still feel the lingering touch of San’s hand.  _ It’s just warm, this is probably a symptom of meeting your soulmate. _ He noticed, lately, that he gets very warm around San. It’s as if San is the actual sun and it’s blazing hot and fireballs continuously jump from the surface.

“Another flower for you, Wooyoung. Coffee on the house, too.” San adds a new flower. It’s a light shade of violet and he honestly has no idea what it is. He gives San a skeptical glance, to which he simply states, “It’s a hyacinth. It won’t kill you, Wooyoung.” San pushes his own stray hairs back as he looks Wooyoung in the eyes.

“You… sure like your flowers, don’t you?” Wooyoung blurts out, clutching them in his left hand.

“Mhm,” he nods enthusiastically. “On my breaks, there’s a flower shop about two blocks away that I like to go to. The owner looks scary on first impression but he’s actually a real softie. He reminds me of a kitten. Flowers have such pretty meanings,” he continues. “Can symbolize friendship, refusal, hatred, love-”

“Too bad flowers die,” Wooyoung thinks. Upon the look of confusion from San, Wooyoung realizes he said it aloud. “Oh, uh, I didn’t realize…” he trails off. “I mean, If some flowers mean love, why do they wilt so easily?”

His heart aches. He hasn’t felt this in a long time but he’s reopening an old wound again, but not with Seonghwa, and it fucking hurts like hell. Love doesn’t last. Love hurts. Love is painful. Love fades. Love is dangerous.

“Because they do. It needs a lot of love and care, but eventually, everything dies, at some point…” He coughs. “So on my days off, I’ll go there for work. The florist. The owner is mentally a grandpa but he isn’t so bad to deal with. Also, you can return Shiber tomorrow.”

Wooyoung is thankful for the change of subject.

* * *

 

It goes a little something like this the next day. On his way to dance rehearsal, he makes sure he has Shiber in his duffle bag, driving to get a coffee at this particular café and then head to the studio. It shouldn’t be too difficult.

Parking the car, he makes sure that he has Shiber under his arm and a bill that should cover the cost of coffee.

He’s dressed in sweats and a short-sleeved shirt, wearing socks with slides. He attempts to fix his hair to look somewhat presentable, but decides to slip on a beanie. It’s getting colder outside, anyway, and he can’t afford to get sick.

He pushes the door for the third time, greeted, once again, by a warm atmosphere, but something is slightly off, something he can’t quite place.

The guy at the counter has a baby-ish face. The name tag reads “Jongho.”  _ Jongho from Saturday? The Jongho whom Yunho mentioned? _

“Hi, welcome. What would you like to drink?”

“The uh, uhm… It’s… I honestly don’t know, uh… One of your employees usually whips something up and it has tasted fine. San?”

Jongho is slowly raising his eyebrows.

“San is on break. He left ten minutes ago.”

“Oh…” Great, he'd have to come back again.

“You seem disappointed that it isn't him. Are you the boy?”

“Um, I’m sorry?”

“The boy that San has fallen for,” he replies, rolling his eyes, as if it is the most obvious thing in the world.

“He has not  _ fallen  _ for-”

“Are you him?”

“I am Wooyoung, and I don’t know if I’m that boy or whatever, but there is no way San can fall for me without even knowing me. I just wanted to return Shiber and order something."

Jongho’s smile spits into a shit-eating grin.

“Oh, great! It’s you. We haven’t heard the end of it. He’s hopeless. I hear you’re playing hard to get?” Curiosity. And a smug tone. "Also, he never ever gives Shiber to anyone. He hates being without that plush."

“I am not playing  _ any _ game. If anything, he’s the one playing games. We just met. You can’t fall for someone you just met.”

(But it’s deeper than that. He’s still so fucking scared. Of San, of soulmates, of love, of getting hurt.)

“He thought you’d say that. I wanted to make sure it was you ‘cause San gave me instructions in case you came here during his break. He’s at the florist’s as usual. Pro’ly getting more flowers. He gave instructions on what to make and says it’s on the house.”

“Again?” Wooyoung asks.

“Yep. Also return Shiber when he is there and only when he is there. He don't trust me with a _plushie._ He also said to give you this?” Jongho’s tone is uncertain.

It’s another flower. Five petals, and a yellow contrast to the light shade of violet surrounding it.

“He says it’s an “uh-neh-noh-mee?” And it is not going to kill you.”

Anemone. That’s its name.

“Thanks. For the coffee and the flower. I-I’m gonna have to decline another coffee on the house. This is the third time, and I’m paying. How much for a regular coffee?”

“Three dollars and twenty-five cents. San doesn’t usually give discounts. If he did, we’d go bankrupt, honestly.” He laughs. It only proves how much of a flirt that San is.

Placing your heart in someone’s hands is dangerous. You never know if they’ll be careless with it. You won’t know if someone is just stringing you along for a ride until it’s too late.

“Here, take the ten,” Wooyoung insists, shoving the bill forward in Jongho’s hands.

Jongho flat out denies. “San said not to take any form of payment from you.” 

He slips the ten into the tip jar instead. It should cover the other coffees he should have paid for.

“I can’t refuse tips, now, can I? San left a very specific set of instructions and he’s gonna flay me alive if I don’t follow through. Do you want me to die because of San?”

And it strikes a chord within Wooyoung. He knows it’s a joke. It’s intended as one, at least. In his mind it registers as something else. His fault that someone had died. But he remembers again. The cupboard is opening, and he just wants it shut. He’s got his mind at a thousand miles a minute. No, no, no. No. No. No.

“No.”

He leaves it at that, needing sit down and gather his thoughts. It’s the busy kind of quiet. Meaning there are people. He absolutely cannot break down in front of them. Not in public. He was supposed to be improving, and it’s been almost a year.

_ Wooyoung, you’re better than this. _

_ It’s not Jongho’s fault.  _ Jongho doesn't know. But even then, he had closed himself off from almost everyone in his life. No one could know why it affects him so much, and that is a secret he’s willing to take to his grave.

Remembering. The cupboard is messy. Everything he didn’t want to think about spills out. He remembers Yeosang, long-time friend. It’s only been months, yet it affects him so damn much. Seeing Mingi’s kind eyes and smile. The thing Mingi did. It’s been almost a year. Yeosang’s anger. The hospital. Waking up. It comes back in waves and he forces himself not to think.

Wooyoung doesn’t want to think about something that happened months ago.  _ Stop thinking about it, stupid. It’ll only make it worse. You need to stop. _

_ Calm down. _

_ Breathe. Count to ten. One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten. _

That doesn’t work. He breathes in and out with each number. He doesn’t wanna panic, not here and not now. He doesn’t wanna let people see such a vulnerable side of him. He could scream. Out of pure fear, he doesn’t want to relive anything that he’s thinking.

_ Five things you can see. Four things you can touch. Three things you can hear. Two things you can smell. One thing that you can taste. _

Five. His feet. The bar stool. The edge of the counter. The ground. His clenched hands.

Four. His sweatpants. Nails digging into the palm of his hand. A plush-

A plush?! He realizes he’s resting his head on the Shiba plushie, which is soft and oddly comforting. Though if anyone were to ask him about it, he’d deny that statement in a heartbeat. He wraps his arms around the plushie, trying to breathe properly as a fresh wave of tears fall from his eyes. Oh, there go the tear ducts. He cries into San’s plushie to mask his whimpers out of pure fear from the flashbacks. Being left alone with his thoughts is dangerous.

“Wooyoung!”

Shit, his drink is ready. Shiber is wet from Wooyoung’s tears, which he feels weak for. He fucking cried. He uses the collar of his shirt to quickly wipe up his eyes and any evidence indicating that his weak ass so much as let a tear slip.

He pushes his bangs in front of his eyes as best he can, then takes a few deep breaths. He’s okay. It was just a moment of weakness. Wooyoung is okay. Wooyoung is fine. His feet are on the ground and he has Shiber tucked under his arm.

He’s okay.

  
  


 

 

 

 

 

(Wooyoung knows he isn’t okay.)

  
  


 

 

 

 

 

(He’s not sure he ever will be okay.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so you made it this far, ey? thank you soso much for reading! truly, it does mean so much to me. 
> 
> i absolutely hate hospitals. there are honestly no words to describe how much i dislike being in them. the part about hospitals and mingi and yeosang mentioned, you'll see how it all links. you'll see. wooyoung refuses to talk/think about what happened. seonghwa knows.
> 
> got this fic mapped out, and the way things are going, we're gonna have 17 chapters at the very least. i know it's been a very slow pace but a LOT happens. i didn't want to jam-pack it in one frankenchapter. so i hope y'all understand. please be patient with me (and wooyoung's character,,,,.,;;,;,.) 
> 
> anyway, there are a lot of messages i want to convey with this. with chapter four, specifically, i wanted to show that healing is a process, that it takes time, and you will experience setbacks. (sometimes i'm okay, but then i still get flashbacks and avoid situations that could potentially make me feel like i'm in that situation all over again. i mentally beat myself up because i feel like a fuvking weak piece of shit whenever i panic because of it. i'm projecting a little. i'm sorry.)
> 
> we all have our own trauma. we all react to it differently. and i hope that what you are going through, remember it is a process and to take your time getting to where you want to be.
> 
> please take care of yourselves !! rest well, eat lots, take care, treat yourself cause you damn well deserve it, smile a bit (it looks good on you).
> 
> x,  
> ty

**Author's Note:**

> hellooooo, looks like you made it to the end of chapter one (1). hope you liked this, if you read it. sorry to disappoint, the hanahaki doesn't come in until later, but it's relevant to this fic as a whole.
> 
> this fanbase needs more fics, i swear. all the fics i've read by atinys: we're a small writing community, but y'all are super amazing writers. quality vs quantity, right? keep it up :]
> 
> as i've already got most of this fleshed out, updates will be every saturday at 12 pm cst. i will put in the notes if there are changes in the update schedule.
> 
> any thoughts? any theories? how do you think this will go? let me know. constructive criticism is greatly appreciated !!
> 
> thanks for reading !
> 
> x,  
> ty


End file.
